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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26359090">Digits.</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/zodesune/pseuds/zodesune'>zodesune</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst and Fluff and Smut, Black Character(s), Black Girl Reader - Freeform, Cunnilingus, F/M, Fingerfucking, Mirror Sex, Public Sex, Reader-Insert, Tongue Piercings, feral hours, fuckboy tendencies, headassery</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 05:48:14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>7,591</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26359090</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/zodesune/pseuds/zodesune</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Fuckboy Terushima Yuuji x Black Girl Reader</p><p>You are a student at Hosei University, tagging along with friends to watch a volleyball match for your team, the Hosei Herons--or as you like to call them, the Hosei Himbos. When you lock eyes with the captain of the opposing team, for a moment, time stills. And it’s not the earth-altering stillness of finally meeting your one true love, or some bullshit. It’s the startling intensity of his gaze that stops you in your tracks. </p><p>Just your luck that he would turn out to have a reputation as a fuckboy, and perhaps worse. Will Terushima make you come undone in more ways than one?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Terushima Yuuji/Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>75</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Digits.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This was my entry for the Haikyuu HQ Server Mirror Collab! The line breaks are from the cover art I made on tumblr. I couldn't find a reference so I traced my own ass to make them lmao.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There must be one hundred people cheering in the stands, yet somehow you catch his eye. For a moment, time stills. And it’s not the earth-altering stillness of finally meeting your one true love, or some bullshit. No, it’s the startling intensity of his gaze that stops you in your tracks.</p><p>For the first set, you faced his back. It was an impressive back, you won’t deny it—muscular calves, slim-thick thighs, a firm arse and lean muscles undulating beside the valley that is his spine—but you were far more focused on the game, obviously. Your team was being demolished, trailing by eight points and counting. No amount of clapping and cheering seemed to help, though that didn’t stop you from yelling like a banshee until your voice cracked.</p><p>A year ago, if someone had invited you to a volleyball match, you would have hit them with a swift side eye. That is, until you stumbled across a casual, shirtless practice match of your college’s volleyball team, the Hosei Herons (or as you like to call them, the Hosei Himbos). You came for the thirst and you stayed for the entertainment—the adrenaline rush from watching a tense game took you by surprise. Now you can’t get enough.</p><p>Your team made it to regionals, the big leagues, but you soon realised that all the nerve-wracking nail-biting home games were nothing compared to this. Dozens of undergraduate teams from across your district of Tokyo have gathered to wipe the floor with your team. Now look at you, jaw clenched, contemplating trailing after the Himbos in the hope of pity fucking one of them to death.</p><p><em>What? </em>Volleyball makes you horny, how can it not?</p><p>When the teams switch sides, it puts you directly in his eye line. All plans of a pity fuck fly over the net and out the window.</p><p>He has the starting serve, spinning the ball in his hands like it’s his very own planet, a deity of nimble digits and smug smiles. Beneath his blonde, slicked hair, he surveys the court calmly,  sweeping over the crowd, drawing in every ounce of attention in the room, a singularity. His eyes are black holes, endless, terrifying, yet utterly thrilling, even from across the court. His undercut is dark and pristine, orbited by two silver piercings like twin moons. He locks eyes on you, and you feel it, that gravitational pull drawing you in, a force beyond your control.</p><p>He tosses the ball into the air, running up to serve without taking his eyes off you. You feel as weightless as the spinning sphere, captivated planets orbiting the volleyball star. It makes no sense, truly no sense at all. You have never met the man in your life, but somehow under his gaze, you feel <em>seen</em>. You feel the warmth and intensity of the sun with the dark pull of a black hole, and it is thoroughly unnerving. Well, only until the moment he finally takes his eyes off you to lob the ball across the court. The sound and sight of his broad palm smacking the surface makes you clench. Too bad he bungles his serve.</p><p>“What a flop,” your friend cackles beside you. “Sucks to suck, dunnit?” she calls through the cheers.</p><p>The ball barely rolls over the net. His face flickers with sheepishness, soon replaced by triumph. Somehow, he manages to score. It flops onto the floor in front of a diving libero, who misses it by a hand’s breadth. The other side of the stadium erupts into cheers, celebrating the your rivals’ first point. If the Herons lose this set, their time in the tournament will end.</p><p>Gritting your teeth, you clap consolations for your Himbos. You narrow your eyes at the devious outside hitter who won’t seem to let them go—why can’t you stop looking at him? He shoots you a cocky, open-mouth wink and you catch a flash of metal on his tongue. <em>bitch—</em></p><p>The game continues, and though he finally relinquishes your gaze, you can tell from the way he now moves that he is putting on a show, only for you. You can’t lie, every time he slams the ball into the ground, or licks his lips before a toss, or looks over with that <em>damn</em> smile, as though he’s telling you ‘watch this’, he turns you on even more. By the time they reach match point, you feel so aroused that a slight breeze could probably make you squirt.</p><p>“Han,” you bump your friend on the shoulder. She pauses mid-screech.</p><p>“What’s up, babe?”</p><p>“The captain. Number one jersey. Bottle blondie. What do you think?”</p><p>“Oh, you mean the guy who’s been eye-fucking you the whole game?” she smirks.</p><p>The sound you make can only be described as a verbal keyboard smash. “You noticed too?”</p><p>“The whole stadium probably noticed, babe. I’m surprised no one pulled a fire alarm so we can clear the arena and give you guys some privacy, cause your business looks urgent.” Han glances down at your firmly clamped thighs, pressing her glossy lips together to stop herself from chortling.</p><p>“Listen!” you sputter for a moment.</p><p>“Yeah?”</p><p>“It’s—you know, I…”</p><p>“Mmm? Tell the audience, babe,” she snorts.</p><p>“Han… it’s <em>bad</em>.”</p><p>“We can all tell, I’m sure even he knows how much you’re squirming.”</p><p>“Are you for real?” you clamp your hands to your forehead. “Is it that obvious?”</p><p>She laughs in response, which only makes you more flustered. “Han, are you being serious? Say ‘wallahi’ right now!” you cry, all but fanning yourself to stay calm.</p><p>“Obviously, I’m joking babe!” Though Han enjoys sending your blood pressure shooting into the stratosphere, she can never break the unspoken Somali rule: if you ‘swear to God’, you’d better mean it. Demanding she says wallahi is just about the only way you can ever get her to be serious.</p><p>“Nah, but for real, he’s clearly into you,” she grins.</p><p>“So I should go for it? After the game?”</p><p>“Definitely! Don’t give me all the details this time though, I’m not feeling him. I’m not sure if it’s the hair or the piercings or the attitude,” she muses, “but I like my thirst objects a little more halal, innit.” Han is a self-described ‘old soul,’ intent on waiting to find the right person. That doesn’t stop her from being thirsty constantly, living vicariously through her best friends’ conquests.</p><p>“Nani no hanashi o shite iru no?”</p><p>The face of your other best friend pops up from behind Han. You are an unlikely trio: you a tall Londoner with waist length, ombré braids and an astronomy obsession, Han, a petite and curvy linguist from Leeds with more decadent head wraps than a fabric market, and Etsu, an Osaka-born biochemistry student with the appearance of an angelcore aesthetic blogger and the personality of a sumo wrestler. People tend to stare, even more so when the three of you speak rapid-fire Japanese in public.</p><p>Seamlessly switching into vernacular, Han catches Etsu up on your current source of thirst.</p><p>“Oh him? I have tea!” she leans over Han’s lap as you gather into a huddle. “The girls behind me were talking about him. He is a fuckboy. He asks a lot of girls for their numbers, but he never closes. That is suspicious to me. I think he just likes to chase, not to catch, like a broken tiger. Take it with a pinch of salt, though. The girl on the right gave him her number and never heard back, so she is probably sulking. But look at her, tiny thing. She would snap in half like a plastic spoon. He is too big for her. I bet you could handle him, Y/N,” she wiggles her eyebrows.</p><p>“<em>I</em> am loyal to my team,” she drawls. “I am going home with that Himbo right there,” she makes no effort at subtlety, pointing an outstretched arm at the arse of a middle blocker.</p><p>You wrinkle your nose, contemplating your new predicament. Not a single part of you wants to become another one of the fans trailing after Terushima, which, now that you look around the stands, you notice there are more than a few eyes hungrily devouring him.</p><p>That said, you can’t judge a star by its spectral shift, as your favourite teacher says. Well, you can eventually, but it takes a hell of a lot of time and research. That’s what you need. Some time to suss him out. As you sit in the stands, you come up with a plan. Every time he shoots you another look, your smile grows. The poor man doesn’t know what’s about to hit him.</p><p>“You should give me your number.”</p><p>Barely a few flirty pleasantries have been passed between you, and he’s already asking for it? A player indeed. You run the tip of your tongue along the back of your teeth.</p><p>“Why?” you cock your head and blink at him. His eyebrows fly up to his hairline, cresting over his forehead like a float serve. You see a flash of annoyance before his features smooth over.</p><p>“Because I want to see you,” he hits you with a lazy smile. It would be dizzying if you were unprepared.</p><p>“You’re seeing me now,” you retort. Not one ounce of him looks intimidated by your feist. He steps closer.</p><p>“Because I want to see you <em>more often</em>,” Terushima frowns playfully.</p><p>“To do what?” you cross your arms. A warning: don’t come closer. Conveniently for you, it covers the nipples straining against your bralet. You really need to stop wearing them as shirts.</p><p>“Well,” his eyes glint at your challenge, “I wanna start with a first date, work my way up to boyfriend, and do a whole lot in between,” his sly grin makes you clench.</p><p>“How much?” you clip.</p><p>“Huh?”</p><p>“How much do you want to ‘see me’?”</p><p>“More than Kim wants Kanye to shut his mouth,” he doesn’t miss a beat.</p><p>“I don’t believe you,” you shrug, stifling your laugh.</p><p>“No?”</p><p>“No. Uh uh. I’ve got you pegged. You’re a classic player, the chat up lines, the smile, I bet if I asked all the girls you’ve ever chatted up to raise their hands, it would look like a Hey! Say! Jump! concert in here.”</p><p>“Not just girls,” he winks. “But you’ve got me wrong. The only thing I <em>play</em> is volleyball,” he blinks sweetly, feigning offence. You roll your eyes. Could he be any more corny?</p><p>“If I—”</p><p>“Look,” you cut him off. “I have somewhere to be. If you really are ‘only a volleyball player’, then I’ll give you my number…”</p><p>Oh, he looks too smug. He’s really gonna work for it.</p><p>“One digit at a time. Every time you win a set, you get another. Let’s see if you’re better at playing volleyball or playing girls… and guys,” you smirk.</p><p>Terushima looks at you—no, he inhales you, his eyes travelling down your body like you’re a breath of fresh air. You can almost see the thrill of a chase rolling through him, vibrating over his skin.</p><p>“I did destroy your team today. That’s two down. So I only need to win four more matches and I’ve got your number?” he grins. It clatters from his face when he realises, “wait a minute, that’s the finals.”</p><p>“Yeah, hotshot,” you smile. “What, you don’t think you can win?”</p><p>“Oh baby, you don’t know how much satisfaction I get from winning,” that damned tongue swipes across his lips. Never before have you felt jealous of a man’s tongue. You nearly reconsider. So what if he wants to make you cum and go before sunrise? With the hunger between your thighs right now, you would welcome the relief.</p><p>Oof, but what if he’s selfish in bed? You would kick yourself if you gave into him, just for the guy to use your body like a glorified fleshlight. There’s nothing more disappointing than sex that ends when the guy does. <em>Is he that type of guy</em>, you wonder, narrowing your eyes at him.</p><p>“What’s your name, by the way?”</p><p>“Yūji,” his voice is the deep, quiet roaring of the sun. It warms you from within, igniting solar flares within your belly. “Terushima Yūji. And yours?”</p><p>“I already told you my name. Did you forget it?” you scoff, the inferno in you flickering, so delicately close to anger.</p><p>“Not your full name. How else am I supposed to find you online?”</p><p>“You’re not supposed to, that’s the point of this whole game,” you wink, twisting on your heel. “Zero, eight,” you call over your shoulder, strutting down the corridor to your friends. You put an extra sway in your hips, because you know he hasn’t taken his eyes off you.</p><p></p><div class="npf_row">
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</div><p>Terushima wins his next game, unsurprisingly. Two quick sets and his team leaves triumphant. At the winning point, whilst his teammates leap around the court, Terushima turns to you, finds your face within the crowd like a satellite in the emptiest sky. The look upon his face says it all, ‘you see that? Another digit is mine.’</p><p>Etsu roars beside you.</p><p></p><div class="npf_row">
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</div><p>You are alone for the next game. Han has classes, Etsu can’t be arsed to put on pants today.</p><p>After he wins, slamming the final point into the court like a meteor collision, he whips around and points to you. He lets the entire arena know exactly who he is playing for. The high you feel is astronomical. That is, until the voices of two players behind you send you hurtling through space.</p><p>“That must be his girl, huh?” they speak in slang, low enough that you wouldn’t hear if you weren’t paying attention.</p><p>“Gachi, she’s exactly his type.”</p><p>His <em>type</em>?</p><p>“Mmm, he likes uh… African-Americans.”</p><p>Your heart plummets.</p><p>“Sore na! Remember that girl who looked like… uh, what was her name? The rapper with the pink hair?”</p><p>“Ah, ah, I remember the girl, she was cute.”</p><p>“Nah not my type. <em>She’s</em> hot though,” you feel his lascivious eyes on the back of your head. Your flesh contorts beneath your skin.</p><p>“Wait. What if she can understand us?”</p><p>“Shit! Wait. Miss? You’re sitting on my jacket. Excuse me? … No, she can’t hear,” they smirk, moving onto other gossip as though they didn’t just rip your chest wide open.</p><p>When Yūji finally finds you, you are <em>fuming.</em></p><p>“That’s two more, baby. Did you see that last set? I was on fire! Man, after we lost the second round, it’s like I started raging! Did you see the way I wrecked their libero?” he gushes, riding his adrenaline high.</p><p>“Yuji, do you have a fetish?” you squeeze through your teeth.</p><p>“Oh, shit. Yeah, I have a few,” he grins, closing the distance between you. Pressing a single finger to his chest, you visibly seethe. It wipes the grin right off his face.</p><p>“Do you have a fetish for Black girls?” you clip out every word.</p><p>“I wouldn’t call it a fetish, but yeah I like Black women,” he combs his fingers through his hair.</p><p>“Mmm. Noted. Forget my phone number, yeah?” you spin on your heel and storm off.</p><p>“Woah, woah, woah, Y/N, talk to me,” he sprints after you, blocking your path. “What’s going on?”</p><p>“You tell me,” you hiss. “Is the only reason you’ve been chasing after me that you want some clout? You want a Black girlfriend you make you look like some big man, yeah? Look like a real hotshot rapper, huh? Yeah, I looked you up, ‘<em>Hyūj</em>’. Dating Black girls isn’t an aesthetic, it’s not a fucking <em>brand</em>, Yuji.” Furious tears teeter on your lash line. You feel like an idiot for getting riled up, but even more so for actually starting to like the guy.</p><p>Dating is such a minefield in Tokyo, and whether you’re completely ignored or treated like some exotic meal to sample, you are <em>always</em> reminded of your race. It’s exhausting, especially when people use you for English practice, or talk to you like you’re African American and somehow seem offended when you don’t speak Ebonics.</p><p>You really thought, just this once, a guy would actually want you, huh? What was that bullshit about feeling seen? Well, now you feel like a core-collapse supernova, your chest imploding before your white-hot fury obliterates everything in your path. You need to get out of here.</p><p>“Y/N,” his voice is gravity itself, gripping you in place. “Listen to me.”</p><p>“What?” you snap, unable to move, unable to do anything except stand there in the sun-streaked corridor, your heart falling through space.</p><p>“I… Man, I don’t even know where to begin,” he takes a deep breath. “I am not a rapper, I’m a music producer.” You stare at him like he’s grown three heads. Is that really what he took out of all of this?  “I’m a good one. I want to be a great one someday. Right now, a lot of people in the industry copy Black artists, I know that. The bars, the flow, the hair, the outfits, it’s insane. And they never give credit. I’m not like those guys, Y/N. I swear to you. I study it. I’m a music major because I want to know the history just as much as the music. I listen to the greats, not just rap artists, but blues, jazz, rock, everything, and I don’t try to copy them, but if I sample them, I give credit.”</p><p>“So? Do you want a sticker? Some applause? A gold star?” you snap. “What does that have anything to do with me?”</p><p>“I just need you to know I’m not one of those guys that pick and choose the culture and don’t give a damn about Black people. I show up, I donate, I read, I go to the protests they organise here, like, I’m <em>there</em>.”</p><p>“And so what, I should reward you for being an ally? Spread my legs for you to take your prize? You wanna sleep with Black women to validate you being ‘down with the culture’? Miss me, Yuji,” you spit your words out.</p><p>“Well, wouldn’t it be worse if I did all that and I never even looked twice at a Black girl? I know so many guys like that, who wanna act Black but would never get with a Black girl, ever. Isn’t that more messed up?” his temper overtakes him, his voice echoes off the walls. “I don’t fetishise women. I don’t have a type, I don’t exclusively date black women, but I do find them—find <em>you</em>—mad attractive. How can I not? How can I appreciate everything that I do and not think Black women are fine as fuck? Like, what exactly do you want me to do here, Y/N?” he roars.</p><p>“Well you can stop yelling at me, for one!” you shout.</p><p>“Then don’t yell at me either!”</p><p>“Fine,” you grit, channelling your anger into your clenched fists.</p><p>“Cool,” he simmers down. A minute passes in tense silence. A minute more. Yuji sighs, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I like you, Y/N. Because… you’re beautiful and you have an amazing body—but not in a fetishy way. You seem like a cool person, the way you dress, the way you carry yourself, I don’t even think you realise how many heads you turn.”</p><p>“Yeah. Because I’m Black.”</p><p>“Sure, but also because you’re hot. Don’t roll your eyes, you are. And your braids are amazing, my favourite colour, and I want to touch them so bad. And I know it’s not your actual hair—and that I’m not supposed to point that out, sorry—but sometimes I think about how great it would be to sit next to you and help you undo them. I want to be with you and get to know you, I mean it. As much as it kills me, I like that you’re making it hard. You don’t take any bullshit, I can tell, and I <em>like</em> that. Just… don’t paint me as some bad guy because of what my exes looked like, okay?”</p><p>You scuff the linoleum with your sneaker, streaking it across the ground as you digest his words.</p><p>“Okay,” you sigh. You can’t justify being mad at him, even though you very much are. You need space to let your anger fade. “Six, four,” you murmur. Finally, your feet begin to move again.</p><p>“Wait, Y/N can we talk?”</p><p>“Tomorrow,” you answer gently. “I need some time to think.”</p><p>“Tomorrow,” he nods. “I’ll be waiting for you.”</p><p>You leave him standing in the corridor, half his body caste in light, a solitary, waning moon in an empty sky.</p><p></p><div class="npf_row">
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</div><p>You miss his afternoon game, but he wins. By the time you show up to the semi-finals the next day, you are no longer mad. If anything, you’re actually excited to see him. Of course, it took ranting to your sister, your best friends and your social media followers before you came to the conclusion that Terushima Yuji is a Keeper. He could still turn out to be a fuckboy, though, so you fully intend to keep him on a leash a little while longer.</p><p>By the time he bounds off the court, celebrating his team moving to the finals, he is so excited you feel guilty that you’re about to give him a hard time.</p><p>“Four digits, please,” he grins.</p><p>“Only two,” you sniff.</p><p>“Y/N. No. Is this punishment for our first fight?” he frowns. You ignore the way your stomach flips when you hear him say ‘our’.</p><p>“No,” you bat your eyes. “I wasn’t at your game yesterday. I didn’t see it, so it doesn’t count,” you shrug.</p><p>“If you weren’t there, that’s your personal problem,” he throws you a cheeky side eye. “What’s mine is mine, and I want those four digits.” Terushima steps closer, pinning you between his freshly-showered body and the cold surface of the wall.</p><p>“No, I make the rules here,” you say with little conviction, your eyes fixated on the gleaming orb embedded in his tongue.</p><p>“Then close your eyes,” his voice is a planetary hum.</p><p>“Why?” you breathe.</p><p>“Because this doesn’t count if you don’t see it happen. Since those are your rules,” his words are honeyed whiskey. Your eyes slide shut as they pour over your mahogany skin.</p><p>You expect to feel his warm lips touch yours. Instead, you feel his tongue streak up the side of your neck, the cold ball of his piercing pressing into your vein, raising goosebumps all over your body. When he reaches the bottom of your ear, he lets out an exhale that drags across your skin like the fingers of a phantom, sending desire pooling between your thighs.</p><p>“Keep your eyes closed,” he murmurs, tugging at your lobe with his teeth.</p><p>You barely stifle a moan, drawing air into your chest and with it, the delicious scent of him, smoky, sweet and expensive. With the groomed air of a man who <em>knows</em> his body, Terushima is nearly irresistible. Nearly. You still want to make him work for it.</p><p>“Maybe if you were half as good at volleyball as you are with your tongue, you would have my number already,” you tease, hoping the backhanded compliment will make him draw back. It only spurs him on. He presses his body against yours, pinning you firmly and thrusting his thigh between your legs. You gasp as the thin material of his shorts grazes over the softest part of your thighs. If he stays there any longer, he might feel exactly how wet you’re starting to become beneath your skirt.</p><p>He chuckles against your ear. Breathy, and in a low voice, Terushima whispers your name. It sends a shiver down your spine and your hips rock back when you feel a fresh wave of wetness rush between your legs.</p><p>“Hm, baby, I’m even better with my tongue than I am at volleyball.” Terushima licks the length of your ear, the tip of his tongue tracing the curve. With one hand gripping your hips tighter against his thigh, the other wraps around your neck to twist it, making more of it available to his mouth.</p><p>Now that you face the open corridor, your mind is torn between the delicious sensation of his thumbs sliding up your thigh to graze the sensitive flesh on your hips, and the very real risk of someone turning the corner and seeing you.</p><p>You press your hands to his chest, and though every part of you is clamouring for him to grind your clit into a fine powder with his muscular thigh, you push him away.</p><p>“Someone might see us,” you breathe. The damp, darkened patch of your slick on his shorts tells him exactly how that makes you feel.</p><p>“I think you like being watched,” he closes the gap between you, murmuring into your ear. His tongue ring strokes hot and cold pleasure over your neck, making you vibrate in his arms.</p><p>“You could get in trouble,” you counter.</p><p>“Only if we’re visible on gymnasium grounds,” he grins. Of course he knows the exact rules. Terushima hoists you over his shoulder like you weigh nothing and strides down the corridor, your ass and the wet patch of your panties on full display. You nearly shriek as you hurriedly tug your skirt down, barely covering your cheeks. Terushima totes you through the halls like a trophy, <em>his trophy</em>, only slowing for a moment when he nears the men’s locker room.</p><p>At this time of day, most of the teams have cleared out to revel in triumph or defeat, but there are still more than enough near-naked men in the room to make you blush, not that they could tell.</p><p>“Don’t mind us,” Terushima waves as casually as a man with a backpack, not your trembling thighs slung over his chest. As he strides into an empty section of the locker room, you watch the receding faces of several slack-jawed volleyball players, one of whom holds a towel in front of his barely-concealed erection. Through your giggles, you throw him a wink, sending a furious flush all over his body. The thought of that sweaty stranger touching himself to the memory of you makes you audibly writhe in Terushima’s grip.</p><p>“You sure are impatient for someone who made me wait this long just to get her <em>number</em>,” he descends to his knees to allow you to stand, and stays there, looking up at you with a sly grin.</p><p>“What are we doing here?” you cross your arms.</p><p>“Baby, don’t play dumb, you and I both know you’re smarter than me,” he smirks.</p><p>“Than <em>I</em>,” you tut.</p><p>“<em>I</em> wanna show you just how good I am with my tongue.“</p><p>Before you can protest—not that you even want to—he lifts up the edge of your skirt to firmly press his nose into your groin, right above the start of your folds, teasingly close to your clit. He pauses, breathing hot anticipation down your thighs. The second stretches on. You tilt your hips upwards, searching for any bit of friction, but his mouth stays out of reach, like he’s waiting for something. Finally, you look down to find him gazing at you expectantly.</p><p>“What?” you gasp, exasperated.</p><p>“I’m giving you a chance to think about it. In case you change your mind,” he shrugs.</p><p>“I want it,” you nod breathlessly.</p><p>“Baby, I don’t think you know what you’re getting into,” the look in his eyes is undiluted filth. “If you change your mind, just say so.” His sentiment would be sweet if it wasn’t for the cocked eyebrow thrown up at you. You want to wipe the smug smile off his face, and then some.</p><p>“Same goes to you, hotshot,” you smirk right back. Then you feel it, his tongue, pressing out to lick over your panties, the hard ball tucking the wet cotton into your folds. Your head falls back and your hands fly to his hair to hold him in place. He moans at the hint of your taste, the sharp, sweet scent of you, even if it’s slight.</p><p>Just as he slips his fingertips under the fabric, you hear footsteps. Two swimmers have entered through the door to the pool. They pause, taking in the scene of Teru’s nose buried between your thighs. Without a word, he looks the closest player dead in the eyes before whisking your panties to the ground. You hear a strangled gasp, but you can barely focus; Terushima’s tongue is already stroking your folds, the metal ball flicking over your clit and sending jolts of ecstasy up your body. Clamping his mouth over your slick lips, he swirls his tongue, overwhelming the sensitive bundle of nerve endings before sucking so hard, your vision blurs.</p><p>“Yuji…” you moan, leaning against the lockers to stay upright, the fingers in his hair gripping so hard you’re shocked you haven’t pulled any strands out. The players clear their throats and awkwardly shuffle past. Raging blushes paint their cheeks as they sneak glances at the two of you before disappearing around the corner.</p><p>"Did you like that?” Terushima asks in between licks, the ball of his piercing flicking the hood of your clit with each syllable. “Do you like being watched, having everyone know who makes you feel so good?”</p><p>Your answer dies in your throat when he sucks your folds, nose pressing firmly against the nub of nerves while his tongue plays with your labia and messages your walls. You feel your orgasm building, and you’re panting more than you’re breathing.</p><p>Then it dawns on you: he’s not even using any of his fingers. He’s about to make you cum purely with his tongue.</p><p>“Fuuuucking hell,” you moan, your hips spasming and thighs trembling. “Yūji, I—<em>unnnhhhh</em>!” Your moan rises to a fluttering whine, arpeggios of pleasure playing into the air. His name on your lips is a symphony. He wants nothing more than for his name to be heard by every guy in the room, spilling from your decadent mouth. Swirling the tip of his tongue around your trembling hole, he plunges the muscle inside you, lapping you up, drawing it out to orbit your throbbing clit like Saturn’s rings.</p><p>“Yūji! Oh fuck, oh fuck, Yuji,” your cries carry across the locker room, his name circling your lips over and over again, an endless melody. You would collapse if his firm hands weren’t holding you upright, gripping your hips so hard he could bruise. When his tongue leaves your satiated cunt, you slide down onto the bench below, trying desperately to refill your lungs. </p><p>“Fuck, I was so loud,” you whisper. The sobriety that comes after a long-awaited release hits you like a train. “We should go before we get in trouble. </p><p>“We won’t get in trouble,” Terushima calmly extricates himself from between your thighs, planting a rough, slick-drenched kiss on your lips. </p><p>“Why not?” you breathe. </p><p>“My grandpa owns this building,” he shrugs, as though being heir to a Keiretsu is a common thing. The information is sobering. Fuckboy indeed. </p><p>Kneeling in front of you, Terushima tilts his face up until his lips find yours again. His nimble hands are already exploring your body once more, beneath your bralet, your skirt—where the hell are your panties? The fingers stroking your folds are a delicious distraction, numbing you to the fear of getting found out. </p><p>“Yuji, stop,” you force your skirt down whilst your brain can still function. He immediately withdraws his hands and looks up with concern. But when he sees your hazy, blown eyes, the way you bite your lip like you can’t quite decide, he seems to understand. </p><p>“Do you want me to stop, or do you wanna go somewhere… less crowded?” </p><p>“Is there somewhere else?”</p><p>“I can think of a few places,” he murmurs into your neck. </p><p>“Yes, please,” you sigh, spreading your legs wider, showing how desperate you are to take him all in. “Wherever is closest, I just need you, Yuji.”</p><p>Whose mouth is this? Never in your life have you given in this easy, but <em>oh</em> the things he can do with his <em>tongue</em>. You need more of him, all of him. </p><p>Terushima slides his hands under your hips, ready to hoist you over his shoulder again. He pauses. As much as he would love to show everyone in the locker room that you are <em>his</em>, the idea of them seeing your bare, glistening cunt makes his blood boil. There are some things he refuses to share. </p><p>Instead, he hooks your legs around his waist, pulling you with him as he rises. </p><p>The locker room is quieter when he strides through. You bury your face in his neck and peek out from over his shoulder, suddenly feeling shy of all the boys who heard you cum. The door swings shut on their myriad faces, some disturbed, some aroused and some more impressed than anything else. Barely three strides later, he pushes through the door to the girls’ locker room. </p><p>The silence is eerie compared to the last room. It takes the sensor a few seconds to flicker on the automatic lights, revealing light blue lockers and pristine benches, far nicer than the boys’ room.</p><p>“The girls’ tournaments were last week,” he gently deposits you on your feet, locking the door behind him. With a voice as coarse as gravel, he promises, “so we won’t be disturbed.”</p><p>Your eyes are drawn to a gigantic mirror lining the far wall. Oh yes, that’ll do. </p><p>Slowly, you make your way to the mirror, discarding your outfit on the floor like a trail of breadcrumbs.<em> Come get me</em>, your eyes find his in the reflection. Terushima fists his cock, but stays as rooted as the sun on its axis. He wants to watch you. </p><p>“You’re so fucking beautiful,” his voice is barely a whisper but you hear it from across the room. You bring your hands to your neck, running them down your body as you try to see yourself through his eyes. Your palms grope your breasts, your fingertips trace a ghostly corset over your stomach, your hands part your thighs, finding purchase on your mound. The moment you slide your finger inside you, Terushima tears across the room like a comet. His clothes are tossed aside, and he presses his raw, naked skin against yours, pouring kisses into you where compliments fail. </p><p>Sinking to his knees, he looks up at you like a worshipper to a goddess. When you sit, he opens your knees, lowering his face to your flesh once more. Your reflection is powerful, a hand gripped in his hair, your tits gleaming in the light, and Yuji himself kneeling between your legs, his back taut and his thighs spread. </p><p>A shudder ripples through him when he parts your folds with his fingers and slips a finger into your endless softness. Velvet, satin, silk, nothing begins to describe the sensation of your walls on his finger. Being inside you might make him fall apart. Another finger slips in, Terushima bites down curse words between his lips and teeth. You <em>are</em> sensation, the moelleux of your molten cum, the softness of your slick lips, the tickle of cropped hair above your slit, the silky smoothness of your skin and the smell of you, oh the taste of you. That carnal sweetness of your cunt, the smell of honey and black seed that seeps from your skin, and your dizzying perfume, that light, summery scent of raspberry, rose and pink peppercorn. Terushima wants to drown in your sensation, die a happy man.</p><p>With two fingers stroking your walls, his <em>come hither</em> starts to coax another orgasm from you. When his tongue finds its home between your folds, the broad, greedy strokes that make you groan narrow to the point of his tongue, flicking you with ruthless precision. Between breathless panting and filthy gasping, you don’t think you have a single atom of oxygen left in your body. You lose sight when your head falls back and your eyes fall shut, your body rippling with pleasure, gravitational waves coursing through you. You need to feel his body against you, to feel the indescribable sensation of skin against skin, the only believable proof that you are more than a body suspended in space. </p><p>“Fill me, Yuji, please,” you cry. </p><p>“Fuck, I was really hoping you would ask,” he gasps, his delectable mouth covered in you. </p><p>Terushima scrambles for his jeans, ripping a condom from his wallet. He scrambles with drenched digits to open the damn thing up. Impatient, you take two fingers into your mouth and coat them with spit that trails out of you, breaking on your chest. When you start fucking your fingers, Yuji’s temper soars. He rips the wrapper with his teeth, and sheaths the condom over his flushed, ravenous cock head. It won’t budge. </p><p>“Fuck,” he roars. “I’m an idiot. I put it on the wrong way around.” Teru looks pained and dangerous, a tiger wounded. </p><p>“Can’t you just flip it around?” you pant, grinding on your palm impatiently. </p><p>“No, no, no,” he rips it off, twisting his own palms into his eye sockets. </p><p>“Hey,” you pull him by the wrist. “It’s okay. The girls locker room usually has a vending machine for tampons and pads and sometimes condoms. I’ll be right back,” your voice is as tender as a new planet. You extricate your juice-covered fingers from your cunt and feed him like nectar. Swinging your leg over the bench, you pad naked to the door, pull your coin purse from the depths of your discarded bag. When you return, you find Terushima sitting on the bench, his face dark, eclipsed with lust, the kind that needs to devour you. Now.</p><p>You kneel before him, before his length. Veined, uncut and slightly curved to the right, his cock is the size that would never make you scared but it sure does make you smile in anticipation. The time it takes you to open the condom, flip it the right way and lubricate his cock with your tongue is far too fucking long. In one swift movement, Teru sheathes himself, pulls you up and presses you against the mirror. His mouth burns glorious sunspots on your throat, dark and magnetic bruises that paint your brown skin. His cock ruts between the generous flesh of your arse, craving you, waiting for you to open up to him. When you spread your legs, he unleashes himself. </p><p>“<em>So fucking tight.</em>” Each word is punctuated by a thrust, and he roars when he bottoms you out. You grind against him only to find an iron grip on your waist. </p><p>“Give me a sec, baby. I’ve been waiting and you’re so… I’m…” he shudders in your ear and your eyes nearly roll back into your skull. Your breathing fogs the glass as you wait, obscuring your faces behind a cloud of cosmic lust. </p><p>“I want you to see how fucking hot you look when you cum,” he growls, pulling you backward and bracing an arm around your chest, smudging the mirror with his other hand. Terushima thrusts into you, swivelling his hips ever so slightly. Your tits bounce with every stroke, and he can’t resist grabbing one. </p><p>“Touch yourself,” he groans. “I wasn’t finished down there.” </p><p>You fall in love with the picture of Terushima staring at you in the mirror like a man on the moon, your mouth falling open, your sweaty bodies grinding against each other, his tongue ring glinting as he devours your neck. Your clit is too numb for simple strokes, so you rub your fingers over it, short, rapid, back and forth strokes that make you scream silently. Fuck, you do look good. Terushima groans when the signs of your climax grip his cock like struts on a rocket, ready for take off. His thrusts become erratic, the breakneck pace of your fingers begins to falter. </p><p>“Fuck, I’m so close, baby, I’m so close but I don’t wanna stop fucking you, I never wanna stop fucking you, I’ll do whatever it takes, fuck you’re so sexy,” a million words tumble from his mouth, the rumble and burn of an engine taking off. </p><p>“Yuuuuuujiiiiii,” your voice ascends to the heavens, your legs threatening to give out beneath you. You close your eyes, and see an entire galaxy. “I’m gonna—”</p><p>There is a theory about the fate of the universe. That the edge of existence will expand so far, so fast that everything—the stars, planets, galaxies, atoms, subatomic particles—will be torn apart. That dark energy will overcome all the forces holding the universe together. They call it ‘The Big Rip’. </p><p>Your body is a universe, a cosmos filled with life on the canvas of Black sky. In his eyes, you have seen the darkest energy, you have felt the edges of existence on the tips of his fingers. You find proof of the theory in an empty locker room when Terushima Yuji tears you open on his thrumming cock. The shock of your orgasm rips you apart. </p><p>What feels like a lifetime later, your spent bodies lie tangled on a heap of towels you stole from the cupboard. You lay in the half-light, the glow from fluorescent lamps in a distant galaxy called ‘outside’. You have been still for so long that the sensors switched the lights off. Only your fingers flutter, exploring the space of each other’s skin. </p><p>“Baby, when you come to the finals this weekend,” Terushima begins. </p><p>“Yeah?” </p><p>“I want you to wear that sexy yellow dress from the first day we met. And those heeled boots from yesterday because they make your legs look so fucking long.”</p><p>Fam. Excuse me?</p><p>“Ah, but I really want you to wear our team’s colours. I’m gonna buy you a dress like that in green.”</p><p>
  <em>Excuse me?! </em>
</p><p>“All the team’s girlfriends wear our colours for big games.”</p><p><b>Exc</b>—what?</p><p>“I need you cheering for me. Then after we win, I can finally get your number,” he plants a soft kiss on your scalp, inhaling the scent of your moringa shampoo. You lie with your eyes wide and your mouth contorted like a croissant, wondering which planet this man fell from. You don’t even know where to begin. </p><p>“So, you’re going to wait until Saturday to get my number and call me?” your voice is low, laced with threat. </p><p>“Well, yeah. That was the deal, right?”</p><p>Oh what a lovely dumbass. </p><p>“Are you mad!” you shoot up and stare at him. Terushima blinks, startled by the sudden glare of the locker room lights. “You think that after all this, I’m going to say goodbye in the parking lot, go home <em>by myself</em>, go to bed <em>by myself</em> and wait, <em>by myself</em> until Saturday to see you? I mean, I don’t want to be dramatic here, but I literally would rather die.” You flop onto his chest again.</p><p>“So… you want to come to my place tonight?”</p><p>“Yeah, ideally,” you answer like it’s the most obvious thing in the universe, which it is. </p><p>“Cool,” is all he says. If only you could see the look of elation on his face.</p><p>“But I’m not wearing your colours because I’m not your girlfriend.”</p><p>“What would it take for you to become my girlfriend?” he asks, running his fingers up your thigh. </p><p>“Well, asking me would be a good start!” you scoff. A grin that would put the Cheshire Cat out of business creeps across his face. </p><p>“Y/N, will you be my girlfriend.”</p><p>“Yeah, alright,” you smile. His grin takes over his entire face. </p><p>“And if you’re my girlfriend, can I fuck you without a condom?”</p><p>“Yuji, for fuck’s sake,” you laugh until your cheeks hurt. </p><p> </p><p>~~~~~~~~~~Bonus~~~~~~~~~~</p><p> </p><p>The recording studio in the basement of the Terushima household is panelled with speakers, dark foam and warm, rich, wood. He sits in a grand leather chair with one headphone on his ear, waiting for a new artist’s track to import. You rise from the couch, stretching yourself and shaking your head as though you can turn the jumble in your brain into your final year project. As you cross the room to the side counter, you sing a song beneath your breath. </p><p>“Somebody come get err, she’s dancing like a stripper,” you do a little dance as you wait for your water to boil. Terushima’s gaze tugs at you and you turn to find him, unsurprisingly, staring at your arse. He grins. The first time he heard the song that’s been stuck in your head, he only raised his eyebrows and blew air from his nose: amused but not impressed. </p><p>Now the guy can’t help but join in. </p><p>“Somebody come giterrrr,” you croon, pointing at him with the cue. He folds his lips into his mouth. </p><p>“Baby, I need to focus. You need to focus.”</p><p>“Somebody come geeterrrr!” you cackle, knowing he can’t hold back for long. </p><p>“She’s dancing like a stripperrrr!”</p><p>“Ayyy,” you drop to the floor, rocking your hips. Terushima leaps from his chair, drumming the table as he twerks, terribly, his ass stabbing the air in front of you. </p><p>You fall into a fit of laughter as you sing and dance, until the moment you catch his eye in the reflection. You fall quiet, he cocks his eyebrow. </p><p>“Fifteen minute break?” you ask. </p><p>“Bold of you to think you can last that long, baby.”</p>
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